


And She Knows Just What it Takes to Make a Pro Blush

by missanomalous



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:47:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missanomalous/pseuds/missanomalous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana doesn't have an irrational fear or carnival rides. It's perfectly rational because they're deathtraps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And She Knows Just What it Takes to Make a Pro Blush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gilligankane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/gifts).



> Reposted from old LJ.

It’s not that she’s afraid of heights or going fast or whatever. She’s been bungee jumping and loves going 100 on the highway. She’s not, like, a total fucking loser. What she is afraid of is shoddy carnival rides ran by people with one week’s worth of training, mechanical or otherwise. So when she sees things like the giant “Ring of Fire” or that octopus shaped deathtrap she doesn’t think it’s entirely too out of the realm of reasonability to hate carnival rides.  
  
But, like always, it’s almost impossible to say no to Brittany when she pouts and Santana isn’t entirely sure why that is. In their friendship she’s the dominant one. She speaks for both of them and decides what they’re gonna do and pretty much runs the other girl when they’re together; and the blonde, for the most part, has been more than content to just happily follow along with that life strategy. But when Brittany asked her to come to the carnival her eyes were so bright and her smile was so hopeful that Santana couldn’t say no. That and the fact that the taller girl had casually mentioned that she already had two confirmed escorts – neither of whom Santana would want to subject her worst enemy to a night as a third wheel.  
  
So that’s how she ends up being the person who holds all the ridiculous stuffed animals that Brittany keeps getting Finn to win her – who gets that fucking dopey, smile whenever she squeals and hugs him and kisses him on the cheek – while the Neanderthal and Quinn take Brittany on every ride in sight when they’re not too busy making out by the cotton candy stands. Quinn shoots her a smirk over her shoulder as Brittany laces their fingers together and drags the shorter blonde to “The Zapper”, because she _so_ loves having anything to hold over the other girl. Santana clenches her teeth and squeezes the stupid fucking monkey in her hand and tries not to cringe every time the old metal ride groans or creaks.  
  
She just really doesn’t get the huge appeal; you sit in a seat and it goes fast. Doesn’t that sound suspiciously like a car? Big fucking whoop. Okay, so maybe she doesn’t love rides because she gets a little nauseous and hasn’t ever successfully ridden one without immediately throwing up. And maybe she’d still be a little afraid of them even if they didn’t make her throw up. But they’re fucking deathtraps. Simple as that. She told Brittany that she had an allergy to them in a desperate attempt to abate the onslaught of requests to come with her tonight, but the blonde pouted and said that she wouldn’t enjoy the week the carnival is in town if Santana didn’t come at least once because Brittany bought one of the week long passes and has been religiously attending every night now. Santana’s not entirely sure that what she says is true, judging by the way she leans on Quinn and whispers in her ear as they step off the metal staircase, giggling. In fact, Brittany seems to be having a fine time bouncing between the other blonde and Finn, lavishing them with and absorbent amount of attention that make Santana gag.  
  
But she puts up with it because she’ll do anything for Brittany because she’s a fucking pushover like that. She may be the dominant one in the relationship but it’s Brittany who holds all the cards, and she thinks that it’s entirely possible that Brittany knows it. Few would describe the girl as an intellectual in any way, but Brittany knows one thing: Santana. All of this would seem to be shockingly accurate considering the fact that Santana finds herself climbing up the metal steps of the eighty year-old ferris wheel, trembling as she hands the greasy ride operator three tickets. Brittany winks at him and he assures them that he’ll let them stay on as long as they want.  
  
Santana breathes through her teeth and closes her eyes as the giant wheel gives a start and stops abruptly as the people in the seat in front of them get off and two more people get on.   
  
“Hey,” Brittany breathes in her ear, the small puff of air cooling her skin on the warm summer night. “Thanks for coming on with me. I feel like I haven’t seen you much since the break started.”  
  
“Well,” Santana hisses, waiting for the carriage to stop rocking as another seat unloads and then is refilled before she continues, “maybe it’s because you’ve been spending all of your time with Fabrudson over there.” She knows she sounds bitter and childish but it doesn’t stop her from avoiding Brittany’s gaze as she gingerly leans forward to rid herself of the thin hoodie she’s wearing, placing it on her lap and willing her core body temperature to lower just a little to help with the sweat that’s starting to overtake her.  
  
Santana can practically feel Brittany pout and then she does because cool lips are pressing to her moist cheek. “I’m sorry,” Brittany whispers, “I really am. It’s just, like, well, you know, it’s _the fair_. And they’re fun to hang out with.”  
  
“And I’m not?” Santana barks incredulously, whipping her head to the side to glare at the blonde. She immediately regrets the action because the jerky movement makes the carriage rock as the wheel starts to move again, and she immediately feels another wave of nausea and fear wash over her and whimpers pitifully; her cheeks burning as the sound escapes her throat.  
  
Brittany’s hand runs through her thick hair then down to her shoulders, her thumb moving soothingly as her lips brush against Santana’s ear. “Scared, baby?” Only Brittany could say that to someone on a ferris wheel and not sound like a condescending asshole.  
  
Santana tenses and jumps the tiniest bit as Brittany’s other hand rests high on her thigh, under the hoodie at the edge of her skirt. Her brown eyes open to gape at the other girl as they begin their slow descent down. “What are you doing?”  
  
“Helping you with your rideaphobia, babe,” Brittany drawls, shooting a smile to the guy running the ride as they pass him.  
  
“I’m not afraid of-”  
  
“Oh puh-lease, Santana. Allergic to carnival rides? Just because I got a D in Spanish doesn’t mean I’m retarded,” a hand presses against her underwear and Santana can’t help the groan that escapes her, her hips tilting up despite knowing that the movement will make their seat swing. “I wanted you to come on here with me because it’s my favorite ride and I haven’t gone on it all week because I was waiting for you to come and it’s only fun going on at night. Look how pretty the lights are.”  
  
And because it’s Brittany, Brittany who is cooing in her ear while her index finger traces her clit through her panties no less, Santana listens and looks out because it really is kinda pretty; all the multicolored lights blinking and flashing against the black backdrop of Lima’s outskirts. Also, Brittany’s hand is really nice.  
  
They come to a stop, probably two spots away from the absolute top. And Brittany leans into her more, her hands slipping under the waistband of Santana’s underwear, fingers gliding against the heat she finds there, moving almost cautiously against the swollen skin.  
  
The ferris wheel lurches and they move up another spot.  
  
“Liking the ride a little more?” Brittany whispers as her fingers dip a little lower. Santana makes an unintelligible noise in the back of her throat and Brittany must take it as a good sign because there’s now a finger in her, moving slowly and in circles as if to reacquaint itself with the area. “It’s been awhile, hey?”  
  
She doesn’t know if Brittany’s referring to whether or not it’s been awhile since they’ve had sex (which it has) or since Santana’s just had sex in general (which it has). It must be evident by the wetness she’s producing after such minimal stimulation or the desperate little sounds she’s making, and she knows that the lightheadedness from being on the ride in the first place is doing nothing to help her stability. Santana immediately vows to never have such a long break between sex again, but it’s not her fault. Brittany’s been busy and Puck has been hooking up with fucking Christina, who is just ew, and Santana can only imagine what diseases the asshole has running through him now (he’s officially on the no-fly list for a long time) and there’s just no one else worth her time.  
  
“JesusfuckingChrist,” is all Santana can muster as Brittany presses down, glancing over her clit over and over again.  
  
“There’s children around,” Brittany tsks and Santana almost rolls her eyes. Brittany undoubtedly has her perfect cherub smile on her face at the moment but those lips have formed words that would make a sailor blush. Not that Santana minds because hearing Brittany talk dirty always cuts the race in half.  
  
The ferris wheel shifts once more and they’re at the very top, they can see everyone and no one can see them so Santana allows herself to open up a little more to the blonde, turning to burrow into Brittany’s neck and shifting her hips to welcome the second finger Brittany presses into her and she just needs this right now.  
  
“Britt... I-”  
  
“You’re so wet, S,” Brittany murmurs into her hair, like she knew what Santana was just about ready to beg for. But of course she knew, because Brittany, unlike Puck, isn’t a self-serving bastard. She also knows how to get someone off; something Santana isn’t sure Puck knows how to do judging by a year and a half of hook ups with a seriously one-sided score clock between the two.  
  
Santana forces herself to stop thinking, especially thinking about Puck and his probable STDs, and it really isn’t all that hard because Brittany is curling her fingers and Santana groans into the blonde’s shoulder at that and her whispered words. “So tight. I’m glad I could break in the ferris wheel with you.”  
  
Santana whimpers as the heel of Brittany’s hand rubs against her clit roughly. “Do you- fuck... fuck. Do you do this-” She decides it’s too hard to talk because she’s sure that no matter how much Brittany flirted with the rider operator, they won’t be up here forever and she’s just so fucking close.  
  
“Not the ferris wheel. It’s special so I saved it for you,” Brittany says with an obvious smile in her voice, which was sweet and calm and nothing like the harsh, rough movements of her hand. “But on Thursday me and Scott Westgard might have snuck into the hall of mirrors right before the carnival closed. It’s pretty crazy watching yourself come from, like, thirty different angles.”  
  
Santana’s done, bucking and biting into Brittany’s neck to keep quiet as her lower body flushes with heat. She kinda hates that she comes at the idea of Brittany fucking someone else in a dirty carnival attraction – she especially hates the someone else part of the equation – but imagining Brittany watching herself, eyes flashing from mirror to mirror while she shivers and keens – Brittany makes the prettiest sound when she comes – is just too hot for words.  
  
The ride moves once more, each cart shifting ahead one more spot and it gives Santana a chance to breathe, blinking her eyes lazily until the flashing lights on the Ring of Fire begin to come into focus. Brittany removes her hand unceremoniously from Santana’s underwear and wiping them on her jeans as she leans down to rub her nose along the side of Santana’s.  
  
“Rides aren’t so bad, huh?”  
  
Santana blinks, taking notice of where she is, hanging in a rickety carriage 60 feet from the ground, overlooking the outskirts of Lima. The wheel groans and moves down a few more spots and she finally takes a risk and looks down, feeling a small wave of nausea which is quickly wiped away by some delicious cockiness at the sight below. She smirks as she catches the gazes of Finn and Quinn who are sitting uncomfortably on a bench near the Dippin’ Dots stand with Brittany’s stuffed animals.  
  
Santana reaches over and grabs Brittany’s chin, bringing their faces together and putting on a show. She paws at the bottom of Brittany’s shirt and makes sure anyone watching can see their tongues as much as possible and she absolutely revels at the breathy little moan the taller girl gives as Santana’s hand flits over her breast. They get a few catcalls from some guys walking below them and a few glares from Finn and Quinn, not that Brittany notices either. The taller girl smiles a little dazedly as she pulls back.  
  
“I missed that,” Brittany hums. “You’re so pretty.”  
  
“Come on,” Santana replies quietly as their carriage comes to a halt at the bottom, the safety bar rising up and allowing them to get up. “I’ll buy you some cotton candy.”  
  
“The blue kind?” Brittany asks, smiling at the ride operator one more time before they jumped of the metal stairs.  
  
Santana grins as the post orgasmic haze continues to course through her and laces their fingers together while she walks them towards a food vendor in the absolute opposite direction from where Finn and Quinn are sitting, staring at them incredulously. “Of course.”  
  
“Will you come on the Ring of Fire with me after?”  
  
Brittany turns to look at her with a hopeful, shy smile and charming blue eyes, squeezing Santana’s hand a little tighter, tugging her arm until the Latina is standing a little closer and it’s just so very cute and so very sweet that Santana’s heart melts a little and the background noise of the busy fairground fades away.  
  
But Santana’s still not an idiot.  
  
“No fucking way.”


End file.
